The Bucket List
by The Whimsicals
Summary: Arthur wants to make sure Alfred doesn't miss out on any of life's important moments. Alfred's only got the one request. To complete everything on his bucket list before his time is up. AU slash. UKUS
1. The Introduction

First introductory chapter of our co-written story. AU, slash, human names used. Enjoy.

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><p>The sun floated lazily high up in the sky, and Arthur breathed in deeply as he stopped in the road. The cotton piled up where the pavement met the concrete sidewalk, and he kicked the pile, sending them drifting away. The cotton seeds floated down the road, the wind carrying them farther than Arthur meant for them to go. He ran after the seeds, reaching out his hands to try and catch them, and stopped, panting, hand on his knees when he couldn't. Arthur's back cracked as he straightened, and he realized he didn't particularly enjoy being alone. It felt like something should have been there, something he couldn't quite reach. He shut his eyes.<p>

Arthur opened his eyes again, and resumed walking slowly down the road. _There's a word for this, and it's dancing away from me, just beyond my reach. Fucking taunting me, just like whatever needs to be here, whatever's missing. There's something wrong here, and I can't place my finger on exac- 'A piece of me is missing.' That's the phrase! _

Arthur grabbed the candy out of his pocket, and threw it on the ground, watching as each piece scattered across the pavement. He felt like they were the bane of his existence, and they were going to pay if he had any hand in it.

"It's fucking your fault! This is all because of you! If you hadn't- if Alfred hadn't- it's because, just, _God. _Fucking this isn't fair!" He screamed. Arthur dropped onto the sidewalk and quietly wept cross-legged. The sun ducked behind a cloud, hiding from his tears until the blond slowly wiped his eyes, and stood up.

Suddenly, Arthur gasped. It was sharp, quick, and the sun peered out from behind the cloud, it's fair face shining down on the Brit's shoulders as he dropped back to his knees. He frantically started picking up the pieces of candy, and carefully brushed them off. Arthur stood disappointed with his handful of dirty candy, luster no longer happily shining like the summer sun on a bright day.

"Arthur, is that you?" A blond head peeked around the corner of the door frame.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING OUT OF BED!" Arthur yelled, poking Alfred in the chest, until he backed onto the hospital bed.

This Kodak moment presented itself neatly gift-wrapped, a bow-tie squarely on top. Arthur silently filed it away in his memory cabinet. Alfred, stunned in his too-thin blue hospital gown, staring up at him with big eyes (glasses tilted cutely to the side), and his mouth a little open as he sat on the cot. The curtains only let a little bit of light in, softly illuminating his baby-blues. Arthur smiled down at his lover, suddenly feeling more jovial than he had in a long time, and Alfred smiled back. It was a big, bright smile, dazzling and cheerful despite the thin, colourless face it perched evenly upon.

"Arty, did you bring me my Skittles?" The innocent question accompanied with a bright grin brought him back to the dusty candy, and Arthur stood with his mouth tightly shut for a moment.

"Well, um. No, actually, I," he stood in the hospital room rubbing the back of his neck, the machines humming quietly in the background as he stared at the cold tile floor. Alfred's faltering smile returned full strength at the sight of Art bringing an ice-cream cone out, along with his own bright grin.

"Even better, Al. I got a vanilla cone from a peddler, and I put the Skittles in them for you. I almost got chocolate before I remembered we traded favorite flavours," he winked at the giggling Alfred licking his cone, and leaned in for a slow, sugary kiss. These delicate moments sparked old memories as Arthur inhaled the cold, sanitized air.

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><p><em>Arthur stood silently on the sidewalk, the clouds swimming through the sky. His bubble wand dropped forgotten onto the ground as he ran towards a sound. It was a blond boy calling softly up to a cat sitting in the big oak tree. Arthur didn't say anything, just stood in the shade watching the strange boy try to entice the cat down. <em>

"_C'mon kitty! Jump, I'll catch you! Don't worry, you're safe now, come on down!" He cheerily shouted at the harassed-looking cat. It lay on the branch squinting down at the short, jumping figure below before settling and closing it's amber eyes.. Before Arthur could say anything, the boy started scrambling his way up the tree. _

"_Hey! What are you trying to do? That cat's not going to budg- Hey!" He reached the tree just as the kid lost his footing and slipped. _

"_You stupid kid, are you okay?" Arthur bent over, and leaning his hands on his knees, cutely stuck his rear in the air. "What'd you even do?"_

"_I just scraped my knee on the bark, is all," he smiled, and tried to stand back up, failing. _

"_Well that was dumb. Black cats are bad luck! Silky's not even cute, and she can get down perfectly fine by herself, you know," Arthur harrumphed. As if to prove his point, the cat dropped out of the tree and stalked off without even so much as an indignant meow. "Why aren't you crying then? You look pretty young; little kids cry easily," he sniffed. _

"_Cos I'm the hero, and heroes don't cry!" The boy beamed, and wiped the blood sloppily off his knee. _

"_Then what's your name? I haven't seen your pretty face around here before, I don't think." Arthur gave the boy on the ground his most charming smile. _

"_Alfred Jones," the kid mumbled. _

"_Alfred Jones? You mumbled," Arthur laughed. _

"_Yeah, but you said it funny. How come ya talk like that?" He tilted his head up at the other boy peering curiously into the . _

_Arthur looked down his straight, freckled nose condescendingly at his new-found friend, who in return peered up curiously. "I'm English, and my name is Arthur Kirkland," he declared, skinny chest swelling with patriotic pride. _

"_You're cute," Alfred smiled. _

"_H-how old are you, even? Cos I'm already eight," A flustered Arthur sneered, crossing his arms._

"_Oh, well, I'm only six, but we can still be friends, right?" Al grinned. Arthur stuck out his lower lip, considering his offer. "I suppose, but I get to be in charge."_

"_Cool! Hey, do you hear that? What's that music?" Alfred looked around quickly, searching for the source of the sound. _

"_Blimey! It's the ice-cream truck! Get up, you fat lard, we have to run and catch it!" Arthur yanked Alfred to his feet, and sometimes when he reminisced over the scene, it seemed to play in slow motion. Alfred came up too hard, and lost his balance. Just as he was about to fall, he landed neatly in Arthur's outstretched arms, and for a moment it seemed like the entire world fit in his embrace. It was the closest Arthur had ever been to a non-relative human being. He decided he quite liked the feeling._

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><p>"<em>What's your favorite ice-cream flavour, Arty?" Alfred's legs extended from the concrete curb, and he cracked his toes with a satisfying pop.<em>

"_Vanilla, and don't call me Arty, only my Gran's allowed to call me that." He glanced over at Al's skinny khaki-short clad legs. "My legs are longer, by the way."_

"_Really? I like chocolate better. And shut up, my mom says I'm beautiful."_

"_Chocolate's gross, and so is your mom." He took a swipe of Alfred's cone, because he didn't really think it was gross. Arthur looked up to see Alfred frowning at the road._

"_I didn't mean it, stupid. I like chocolate too, but yours is dripping, so fix it. And I guess your mom probably isn't gross." He outstretched his own cone as a peace treaty. "Here, you can have a bit of mine. But only if you want." _

_Consoled, Alfred took a chomp out of the other kid's cone, smiling at him with an ice-creamy face. _

"_Did you just bite my ice-cream cone..." Arthur stared at the treat in his fist, a semi-circle of teeth marks marking Alfred's bite._

_The overhead sunshine seemed to disappear for a moment. As the boys looked up to investigate, they realized it was only a shadow. A thin, scowling boy stood looming over them, and a cloudy day didn't seem so bad after all. _

"_There you are, stupid. What're you doing, Al? How'd you screw up your knee? Jesus, you're such an idiot, you can't do anything right. Well, get up! What're you waiting for? Dad's sitting at home, he's all mad and he wants dinner, so if I were you, I'd hurry my ass up," a tall boy stood with his hands on his hips, before turning around and walking away in the direction he came. A silence settled uneasily over the two as the summer cotton danced in circles around them._

"_Well, my brother says I have to go. Thanks for the ice-cream, Arty," Al gave a little smile before he left Arthur sitting by himself on the curb, lanky legs outstretched. _

"_Don't call me Arty!" he called after the disappearing figure, before getting up and angrily continuing to eat his vanilla cone alone. For some reason, it didn't seem to taste as good to Arthur anymore, and he disappointedly threw it onto the sidewalk._


	2. The First Chapter

Alfred had heard a lot of crazy things in his life. From the odd things his friends would spit out, to the horrifying ghost stories his brother had taunted and tortured him with for the longest time. Alfred was accustomed to the unusual, and had built up a sort of desensitizing mechanism over the years. So when he had received the news, he had inadvertently brushed it off as another unbelievable story. Except this time it wasn't a gross childish exaggeration. This wasn't fake. This was reality. He was dying, and there was literally nothing that could be done.

It had taken a few hours for it to sink in. Hours spent in the dull hospital room clutching a distraught Arthur to his chest. A few hours having his hand squeezed painfully as he lay on the hard hospital mattress, receiving test after test. Gaining large amounts of pity and sympathetic smiles from the passing nurses. The whole thing seemed almost dream like. A blur of faces, needles and tears. In his mind he still didn't fully comprehend what was happening. Why was he there? The entire situation just felt foolish and wrong. It really hadn't sunk in until Arthur had handed him the telephone with a downcast expression, and the sobbing tone of his mother had assaulted his ear. She was upset, and that was all it took for it to dawn on him that he was responsible. It was his fault that Arthur was missing an important day of work, his fault that his face was strained and his bushy eyebrows were furrowed in despair, his fault that his mother was frantically booking flights for her and his brother. He was dying.

When it had finally sunk in, there had been a brief moment of panic. A heart wrenching moment where for the first time ever he was left speechless. He didn't have any words; it was a new, uncomfortable feeling. The panic was overwhelming and for the time being he desperately needed to be alone. Which had led to him hastily requesting Skittles from Arthur, and a quick trip to the bathroom to heave violently into the sink. It had taken him approximately twelve minutes and seventeen seconds for him to accept his inevitable death. It took him exactly twelve minutes and thirty two seconds to regain his smile, and to take his brief moment of self pity and shove it down his throat. Out of sight, out of mind.

The room was colourless; he couldn't help but realize as he actually took in his surroundings as he exited the bathroom. He made a mental note to request flowers, and maybe even a helium balloon. The familiar sound of clopping shoes had Alfred peering his head around the door frame to spot his downcast lover.

"Arthur, is that you?" The question was unnecessary, seeing as he clearly recognized the messy blond hair. He didn't expect the angry expression and sharp reply that had Alfred startled as he stumbled back onto the bed, plucking lazily at a loose thread on the awful blue hospital gown as he peaked up curiously at the Brit. He couldn't help grinning brightly despite the fact that he knew he must have looked worn out. His glasses fell askew on his face as he tilted his had to the side questioning for his sugary confectionery; he hadn't realized how much he actually been craving the sweet until then. At the sheepish response he felt a short lived pout form that was quickly demolished as Arthur whipped out an ice-cream from seemingly nowhere.

His grin returned full force as he lapped happily at the sweet treat. Suddenly lips were assaulting his. Soft urgent, pressing lips were combining the flavours in a unique mix of vanilla and Arthur. It was just what Alfred needed at a time like that. It was short lived though because Arthur pulled away with a small smile. Inhaling the air deeply. Alfred cocked his head to the side briefly before returning his attention to his ice cream, leaving Arthur to his thoughts.

The loud blaring of Arthur's ringtone had them both jumping slightly. The Brit cast an apologetic smile in Al's direction as he shuffled into the hall, scowling at the obviously work related call. Alfred collapsed backwards onto the bed, holding the melting cone above his head. Watching as it dripped down the cone. He could hear Arthur quietly cursing out whoever had called in the hallway. An irritated sigh and the snapping shut of his phone was the last he heard before-

"Hey stupid, your ice-cream's dripping. Fix it." Alfred smiled at the familiar line and sat up slowly.

"What's work want?" Arthur furrowed his brows and the question and huffed.

"I've got to run to the office and pick up some invoices. Apparently everyone else is incapable of the smallest tasks." Arthur paused, looking torn. "Will you be alright by yourself? I can come back later if you'd like. The doctor wants to keep you here for a few days..."

Alfred smiled lightly. "It's okay. I have the nurses Arthur, I'll be fine." Arthur bit his lip somewhat viciously in hesitation before nodding jerkily and pressing a kiss to Alfred's lips, smiling, he returned the kiss and pulled back. Allowing the older to tuck him into the bed, Alfred slunk down slightly. The dying sunlight set a orange tint over the room, giving the illusion of warmth and casting a happy glow.

"You gotta run, Arty. Else you'll get in trouble with the boss man." Arthur made a face before pressing one last lingering kiss to his lips before quickly exiting the room. As he lay alone with the warm sunlight lazily casting on his face and the soft whir of the surrounding machines, it was extremely easy for Alfred to drift into a somewhat easy sleep.

-~-

"Stupid, wake up," Matthew ashed his cigarette out the window.

"Mattie, why are you smoking?" Alfred gurgled sleepily. The look he received from his older brother woke him up faster than any reply could have.

"I told you! I told you those damn cigarettes are bad for your health! And now you've gone and upset Alfred! Apologize, and throw that cancer stick out! I-I mean, that, that, that, cigarette!" The siblings looked blankly at their frazzled mother.

"Uh, mom?" Matthew stared.

Alfred piped up with a uncertain, "I only meant that you're not allowed to smoke in hospitals." Matt looked at his younger brother for a second, gaze lingering a little longer than needed, and wordlessly flicked the cigarette out the window.

Elizabeth Jones blinked at her two blond sons: one sitting up concerned in bed, the other nonchalant against a wall. She nodded jerkily, and quickly scurried out of the room, mumbling a faint excuse about the cafeteria. The nerves had made her stomach uneasy, and she wanted something to eat, however nasty hospital food may be.

Matt cleared his throat pushed his body lazily off the wall, strolling across the room. "I brought you some shit. Clothes n video games, you know."

Alfred reached his hands out for the backpack his brother picked up with a bright grin and, "Thanks, Mattie!" Matthew leaned a hip against the generic grey table, watching his younger sibling tear into the (rather dusty, to be honest) backpack like they were little kids again, tearing into shiny Christmas presents. It was cliche as Hell, and he couldn't help but send a fat smirk in Alfred's direction.

"Uh. Matt?" Alfred paused in his investigation of the bag's contents to peer at his brother. "I'm sorry, how did you get into my apartment again? I told you, Mom told you, the cops have told you, picking locks is illeg-"

"Dumb shit. Your boyfriend let me in, calm down. He went off to some fancy business meeting, all dolled up in his work clothes and everything. Arty-boy looked pretty down." He raised an eyebrow.

Alfred looked down at the brightly coloured straps in each hand, remembering a time when he couldn't quite fit them, but wore the backpack to school anyway. The poignant moment faded away as his brother's foot tapped impatiently for a response. He decided to ignore the demanding stare, and explore the long-lost nooks, crannies and crusty pockets of the middle school bag.

His hand happened upon something crumpled in a tiny side pocket, and he drew it out to reveal a piece of stationary note-paper covered in Arthur's neat writing and stains. Alfred squealed in delight at finding the forgotten treasure. Matt looked up from his phone he'd pulled out moments before, and raised an eyebrow.

"Is that a Big Mac sauce stain? Really, Al?" He shook his head and went back to BBM.

Alfred just smiled to himself, and tucked the paper away in his glasses case for later.

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><p><em>"I'm hungry." Alfred announced. He looked over his shoulder at Arthur sorting through a box of National Geographics. Arthur raised an eyebrow and pointed to his homework. Alfred harrumphed and resumed staring at his science worksheet, tapping his pencil on the textbook where it rested on the living room floor. <em>

_"Can we go out for McDicks, Arty?" He cocked his head pleadingly at the older boy. _

_Arthur sighed and dramatically slammed his magazine onto the table. He stared at Alfred lounging on the floor, and pursed his lips. "I'm busy, Al. I'm looking at magazines. It's sophisticated. And you failed science this year, so you have to do your bloody makeup packets! And if you don't like it, well then that's just too bad; you shouldn't have failed science."_

_Another few minutes crawled by as the sound of Alfred's pencil scritch-scratching and Arthur flipping pages filled the silence. Alfred rolled onto his back and thoughtfully gazed at the ceiling. _

_"There are so many other things I would rather be doing right now," he groaned, closing his eyes. _

_"Like what? We live in Bayboro, North Carolina, Al. There is nothing to do. The most exciting thing around here is the town library," Arthur rolled his eyes. _

_"We can go down to the beach, can't we?" Alfred begged. He theatrically stuck out his lower lip and clasped his hands together. _

_"Are you forgetting about the giant sunburn over your shoulders and face? You can't go to the beach; you're going to end up with melanoma or something." the blond pointed out with a small smile._

_Alfred paused frowning for a second, rolling on the floor trying to find a suitable response. Arthur went back to his magazines for a second before a quiet, "If I show you my chest will you take me out...?" came wafting up from the floor. _

_There was an awkward silence that hung in the air before Arthur burst out laughingly with a shrill "What the fuck, Al?" He blushed, and added, "That's so.. I don't even know! Scandalous!" The British boy looked down and said, "We can go to Macdonald's after you finish your homework."_

_A solid bout of cheering resounded through the house and Arthur's dad looked up from his newspaper for a second before huffing and returning to his news. _

_"Hi, can we get an, um. A Big Mac combo, with a Spri-" Arthur stared before Alfred butted in._

_"Coke. He means Coke," he smiled at the lady behind the counter._

_"Okay, no ice in the Coke, and a butter knife, and can we also get four packets of McChicken sauce," Arthur finished. The cashier stared at him blankly, and turned to the register, muttering "McChicken sauce.." to herself as she searched for the button. _

_"Hey, um it's not on there. You just sort of, give us the sauce.. And we still need our knife." Arthur pointed out with a strange look at the clearly foreign cashier._

_"Your knife will be included, and don't worry. I'll get you your sauce, I know what I'm doing." The lady went back to poking at the cash register. _

_"No, miss, they don't include cutlery with the meals here in America," Alfred reminded her gently. They paid ("Is this a debit card?" "No, it's a post card. Yes, of course it's a debit card.") and stood impatiently in line. _

_The tray slid towards them, and the boys stared at it, not knowing quite what to say. Along with their requested meal and plastic knife, were four dessert cup tops filled with a quivering, lumpy orange-brown sauce, fully equipped with what appeared to be chunks of pickle sprinkled throughout. They exchanged glances before silently picking up their tray and walking to a table. _

_"What is it?" Alfred quietly whispered, poking at the sauce with a fry. Arthur didn't reply, scanning the receipt instead. _

_"It's Big Mac sauce," he stated, looking up at the bewildered Alfred, who was steadily going at the unidentified substance. _

_"You're shittin' me," Al spluttered (the sauce all over the tray and Arthur's arm) after a long silence. "How did she get 'Big Mac' from 'McChicken'?"_

_"Fuck if I know, but she charged us forty cents," Arthur grumbled, getting up to leave. "Gotta get some proper McChicken sauce."_

_"Waaaait Arty, don't leave me, I'll be lonely," Alfred launched himself towards the older boy, latching himself onto his sleeve. He was looking up plaintively one moment, the next he was being dragged across the plastic table._

_"The tray!" Arthur shook his arm free from Alfred's death grip, and dived for the tray of food wobbling precariously on the edge of the table._

_"Mmshkdgiffftink," came from Alfred, lying face-down on the table._

_"Sorry, what?" The blond looked up from the tray resting in his hands to the other boy, who was _  
><em>slowly lifting himself from the table.<em>

_"Oh, I wasn't actually trying to say anything, just making noises of displeasure."_

_-~-  
><em>  
><em>After the meal had been finished Arthur handed the receipt to an amused Alfred.<em>

_"Here, hold onto the receipt, I wanna keep that." Alfred nodded and stuffed the paper in his pocket, where it was promptly forgotten about._

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><em><em>  
>Yo yo yoey, wanna reveiw pl0x?<p><p> 


	3. The Next Chapter

When Arthur entered the room, the last thing he expected to see was a colourful blast-from-the-past backpack, and an equally colourful Canadian sprawled out tiredly in an uncomfortable hospital chair next to a slumbering Alfred. Matt seemed to be mulling over a sheet of paper with an unidentifiable expression on his face, as he gazed uneasily from the slip to his unconscious brother.

"Matthew?" Arthur questioned as he entered the room, carefully setting his cup down on the table, removing his work jacket as he did so. He had come straight from the office, stopping only for tea in the closing lobby of the hospital.

Matthew stiffened at the sudden soft spoken word flitting lightly from the Brit's mouth, and they lapsed into a heavy silence when the blond Canadian failed to utter a response. The only sounds permitting the air were Alfred's soft breathing, and the clacking of the nurse's shoes as she strutted down the hallway. Visiting hours were long over, clearly being ignored by two stressed men. Visiting hours didn't exist when you were dying.

"Did you ever see this..?" Matthew broke the impromptu silence with a choked question. Arthur raised his brow and shuffled over, peaking at the paper grasped tightly in the others hands. What he saw shocked him, a large sheet of paper, filled with scribbles, doodles, places, and stains. A list of places to be exact, with cut out pictures from what Arthur recognized as National Geographic magazines.

"Is that..." Arthur couldn't even finish the sentence, seeing as Matt had whipped around and was staring at him with fierce, somewhat red around the edges, blue eyes (yet not the same shade as Al's. Nothing compared to Al's eyes).

"He wrote this along with three other pages. It's filled with places he wants to go, goals, past experiences... Hell, this is his Bucket List of sorts." And then suddenly Arthur understood the teary eyes of his boyfriend's brother. The unbelievable amount of emotion that came washing over him had him staggering lightly to lean heavily on the back of Matthew's chair. The Canadian pinched the bridge of his nose with an upset expression.

"These are Al's dreams in paper form. He refers to himself so much as the Hero in here, it's not even funny." Matt paused for a moment to let out a sort of chocked out sniffle quickly covered up with a rapid eye rub. "Arthur I don't know what to do. Al's never even been out of the States, yet his hopes are so high."

Arthur averted his eyes before frowning. "I know."

Matthew stood suddenly with narrowed eyes. "Shut up. No, you don't. You wouldn't know. Because you weren't even vaguely involved in his life for five years! So, no, you don't know, Arthur."

The Brit narrowed his eyes. "Now that's just uncalled for, Matthew."

"Why? Because you're butt-hurt over the fact that it's true? Because you know that I'm right, and you're wrong? Because you're a god awful person who runs off on his best-friend at the height of his pain and emotional turmoil? _'Ohhh, I'm Arthur. I have to run off across the country with little-to-no good-bye. Wah, wah, wah. I suck!'_ Well fuck you, Arthur. I really find it hard to believe that you're really drowning in remorse."

"Belt up! I'm his fucking boyfriend, Matthew. I love him. This is hard for me, too! Just as much, if not more than for you."

A small clearing of the throat had the two arguing men whirling around to meet the somewhat incredulous stare of Alfred, who was sitting up as he slapped his hand around searching for his glasses.

"You know,I can't see jack-shit right now, but I'm sure as hell not going to find my brother and boyfriend cursing the fuck out of each other when I put my glasses on, am I?"

The two men collapsed onto the uncomfortable plastic chairs and adverted their eyes, focusing anywhere except the bed the held the messy headed blond. Alfred finally found his glasses and slipped them on over his eyes, smiling.

"That's what I thought. We're all getting along. Lovely, eh?"

The incident was never brought up again.

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><p><em>This room had the scent of death to it, Alfred decided as he looked around. At first sight, it seemed perfectly fine; but as he looked a bit closer, everywhere, he could see signs of decaying life. The elderly shuffling around, the receptionists sitting bored at the counters, the patients with a broken this and a failing that. Lives either falling apart, or being wasted in a blank white building. <em>

_"Matthew, why are we here?" He turned to look at his older brother. _

_"Shush. We're visiting Grandma, Alfred." _

_"Is she sick? Since when?" _

_"She's been sick forever, now come on," Matthew shushed as he grabbed his little brother by the wrist, dragging him down the blank, harshly lit hallway._

_They arrived at a door marked 187. Alfred stared at the patients in their beds as he walked past, each bedside table covered in balloons, cards, wilting flowers, and the like, except the last bed on the left. The back of Alfred's mind feebly noted that he'd gone past his grandma, and was no longer walking with Matthew, but Alfred chose to ignore this. Instead, he walked softly to the bed by the window, and sat in the chair beside it. He watched as the teenage boy roused at the sound of Alfred's footsteps._

_"What's wrong with you?" Alfred handed the boy his lollipop, as consolation for being stuck in this plain room which stank of death._

_"I'm sick," the other boy declared, sticking the lollipop in his mouth. _

_"I'm Alfred. What kind of sick have you got?" came the response._

_The boy looked out the window, as Alfred carefully read the chart at the end of his bed. He watched the cars go by for a few seconds, and wondered what had brought this little blond charm into his hospital room. And how did he know his favorite lollipop flavour was lemon?_

_"The kind that doesn't go away," he quietly told Al. "The kind that eats away at and rots everything it touches. You can't fix this sick."_

_Alfred stared at Christian, sorry he'd asked. Christian stared back, not smiling. Al wondered, where were his family, his girlfriend or boyfriend? Why was the only thing on Christian's bedside table a worn copy of 'Wuthering Heights'? He walked over and hugged Christian tightly. _

_"I'm sorry you tried to kill yourself, Christian. I hope you get better soon, even though you said you couldn't," Alfred said as he handed Christian a roll of Mixed Fruit Mentos (because really, who buys the other kinds?). _

_"Alfred, what the fuck. There you are, don't go wandering off, you scared me; leave this kid alone, jesus. Sorry about my brother, get well." Matthew grabbed Alfred by the wrist again, and toted him off with barely a quick glance at the skinny boy in the hospital bed. _

_Christian popped Mentos out of the roll until he found a strawberry one, looking out the window as it had begun to rain._

* * *

><p><em>"Gran! I've missed you!" Alfred ran up to his Grandma and hugged her tight round the middle. "Why're you in hosp, Grannie?"<em>

_"I have leukemia, Al. Could someone run down to the cafeteria and grab me a cuppa tea, please? A teaspoon of honey, dear, thank you, Matthew," she called across the room as she gathered Alfred into her lap. _

_"Gran, I'm too old to sit on your lap!" Alfred whinged, even as he snuggled against the frail old lady. "What's leukemia?"_

_As she pet his fair hair and told him about her illness, Alfred listened and ran his fingers over the patches in her sweater. How many of these had she sewn, in her life? How many lumpy sweaters had been carefully, tenderly hand-made, then thrown into the back of closets, never to be seen again? _

_"Hey, Gran? Christian said he had a sick that doesn't get better. What about yours? You'll get better, right?" Alarmed, Alfred sat up. "Right? You're still gonna come over on holidays and make Sweet Marie bars? And knit me ugly sweaters I don't wear?"_

_"I'll knit you so many ugly old sweaters up in heaven that you won't have enough closets to toss them in, Al," his Gran declared as she kissed his firmly on the forehead._

_"I do wear them, you know. Just not to school." _

_The sound of her laughter was cut short by the door abruptly slamming open, a too-thin blond woman walking in, pulling Matthew behind her. _

_"Natalie, what the fuck? What are my kids doing here? Alfred, come here. Come on, let's go," she scooped a protesting Alfred into her arms, ushering him towards the door. "Matt, what are you doing? Let's go." _

_Matthew had quietly handed his grandmother half a cup of tea, the other half having been sloshed onto the floor by his mother. Apologizing, he walked guiltily back to his clamouring mum._

_"Mary, why can't they come see me? You know my time's almost up, all I want is to spend a little time with my grand kids." Natalie looked sadly at the worn-out woman grasping her kids. _

_"Because it's not good for them. Kids shouldn't be allowed to wander around by themselves!" Mary declared, giving her mother-in-law a hard look. _

_"I hardly think they would be by themselves. I've raised four kids of my own, haven't I? They turned out alright; you married one," Natalie replied, exasperated. _

_Mary continued staring, before she unamusedly scoffing, still squeezing the wrists of Matt and Alfred, her lips (thin, like everything else on her) pursed tightly. "Yeah, turned out just fine." _

_Her tone was laced with sarcasm, and she narrowed her eyes one last time before turning on her heel, and dragging her unwilling children out the door. _

_"Mum, why can't we stay with Gran?" complained Alfred, rubbing his wrist once they were out of Room 187. "I like her, she tells nice stories."_

_"Yeah, Mum. She's dying in there, you know. She has leukemia," added Matthew._

_"Because Nat- your Gran isn't a good influence. She's 57 years old, for Christ's sake, and still hasn't grown up. Her head's not right. She dreams too much," snapped their mum. _

_Alfred stole a look at his brother. They were going to sneak out to see Grannie one more time, then he never wanted to see the inside of a hospital ward again, Alfred swore._

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><p>A side note: the last chapter's encounter with the big mac sauce cashier was nearly verbatim. It really did happen to us, she was painfully foreign and I actually got charged extra for the sauce. It tastes pretty good with fries, though.<p>

Enjoy, sorry it took so long, all the best x please review

edit: At least 43 people have read this chapter already but no reviews :'c please review for us, bb's. It makes the writing go by faster, knowing someone actually reads it. xx


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